


Understudy

by crazyrayray113



Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Coriolanus - Freeform, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 23:54:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3188009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyrayray113/pseuds/crazyrayray113
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fainting on the set of Coriolanus yields interesting results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Understudy

**Author's Note:**

> Ha! I wrote a thing! It’s been like months or years, but I wrote a thing! Here have the thing! This may or may not be the first Tom fic I’ve posted, which feels a tad bizarre given how much of it I have actually written. Tough. I hate sharing :P

“Look, here’s a letter from him. The state has another, his wife another, and I think there’s one at home for you,” Debbie recited perfectly in Volumnia’s somewhat abrasive character. Out of costume, however minimal, it was odd.

“I will make my very house reel tonight. A letter for me?” Mark cheerfully atoned, wildly gesticulating as per the script.

“Yes, certain, there’s a letter for you. I saw it,” the understudy chimed in, rushing to embrace him with Birgitte’s usual fervor. While she was certainly here to make a name for herself, it was always a balancing act to not outshine the actress for which she normally alternated.

“A letter for me! Is he not wounded? He was wont to come home wounded.”

“Oh, no no no,” she continued with a purely overjoyed smile, though it vanished accordingly with Volumnia’s next quip.

“Oh, he is wounded. I thank the gods for it.”

Running lines for this particular production wasn’t much of a chore, especially since she was mainly an understudy for Virgilia’s character who only had a few lines and otherwise simply trotted around the stage and hung on her husband like a clingy housewife. But wasn’t that a gift? The husband in question, the star of production, was played by none other than Tom Hiddleston.

She had admired his acting skills long before she landed this job, and god was she grateful for that. She’d spent an entire year working as a stagehand at the Donmar when word of their newest production Coriolanus started to circulate. And soon after that, the name of their star. This was her chance to possibly make it in theater if she could work with someone so famous. So she spent months preceding the casting to memorize the play cover to cover. And her thoroughness and hopefully some talent had her working as Birgette’s understudy for the week or two of production time she couldn’t make the curtain call.

Her part was simple enough, but she’d learned the parts of almost every other female actress there in her down time. That fact seemed to impress their director, but in reality it was the only thing she could do to keep herself distracted from the very attractive man she was required by the script to lock lips with repeatedly per show. It was both fantastic and utterly unbearable.

As the other actors continued running lines, she dropped back as per usual and her eyes lazily wandered the very barren stage until they settled on Tom where he was in his own little world across the room. He’d been jumping rope for at least ten minutes now and it was unbelievably distracting considering he was wearing ordinarily unflattering sweats. But his shirt was sleeveless, he’d worked visibly hard for this role and he was already bloodied up for tonight’s show. The whole of it was making her dizzy. Quite literally.

The sound of her name dragged her out of her fog, though the feeling of light-headedness stuck with her. She’d missed her cue and everyone was watching her worriedly as she felt the color drain from her face. Everything went dark and the next thing she knew, she was lying on the floor with a splitting headache. _What the hell just happened?_ The world was spinning just a little too fast. She was so sure she’d died and gone to heaven when she found Tom Hiddleston’s hazy face hovering over her with a look of concern that made her feel blissful. But that only lasted until she realized she wasn’t dead nor had she ascended into the clouds. No, she was actually lying on the stage floor with her head in Tom’s lap as he dabbed her forehead with a wet rag. Very suddenly the terror transformed into embarrassment. And she’d yet to even mention the other two actors holding up her legs.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice a bit raspy.

“You fainted,” Tom explained. “And the stage was none too forgiving.”

Yeah. She felt that for sure. And she’d probably have a lump on the back of her head the size of a small planet. She tried to sit up but she felt instantly dizzy again and collapsed once more into Tom’s lap. He adjusted to better accommodate her like the perfect gentleman, his hand and the damp cloth still gently grazing her temple. She blushed like a schoolgirl with a crush at such simple contact. She had more composure when she kissed him, but a stage kiss was not the same as this comforting gesture that came from Tom and not his character.

Her face felt like it was on fire. All she wanted to do was disappear. On stage she could compose herself and between scenes she could remind herself it was only a performance, but this was too real. She sat up again, this time with more success, but his face was still a dark shade of pink and her head ached. Tom still looked upon with concern, one large hand bracing her shoulder and the other testing the warmth of her cheek. “Maybe you ought to lay down a while,” he suggested.

_Yes, anything to get off this damn stage._ More than anything she wanted to go home and get away from everyone – and take a damn cold shower, but soon Tom was helping her up and escorting her backstage.

The walk to the dressing rooms was silent and as awkward as humanly possible. And it only got worse as they were closed into a small room together. She sighed with relief as soon as she saw the sofa tucked into the corner, hopeful that he would return to his workout. But instead he started fussing, folding up a few towels and setting them on the couch like a pillow. “Can I get you anything else? Water? I could find you a blanket or something?”

“I’m fine, Tom. Thanks.”

She couldn’t help but notice the sudden shift in his behavior. Ordinarily she was the one stumbling over her words. While she could recite Shakespeare like regular English, everyday conversation was awkward. But Tom was standing here, wiping his hands on his pants, looking like he didn’t know what to do with himself. “Are you sure you don’t need anything? That was a pretty bad fall. You’re lucky if you don’t have a concussion.” His fingertips brushed the swell on the side of her head and she couldn’t help the shiver that passed over her. “You feel a little feverish. Do you think you’ll be all right for the show tonight?” She hadn’t exactly thought that far ahead. “I’m not sure I could – we could do it without you.”

“I’m only an understudy.”

“Between you and I, you’re much easier to work with.” She couldn’t help but revisit the last night they’d performed together; pressing her lips to his and feeling his strong arm circle her waist. She blushed again. “Not to say that you’re easy – I didn’t mean it like that. I only mean that I feel we have better chemistry.”

She felt a wave of confusion as that sentiment settled in, but when she looked up in search of some sort of sarcasm in his gaze, his lips abruptly collided with hers. His kiss spoke nothing of the stage kisses she’d received before. His hand cupped the back of her neck as she melted, the soft pull of his lips completely mind-numbing. Her hands looped around his neck when she was so sure she would faint again. But by the time they parted, she was floating on cloud nine somewhere.

“I’m sorry,” Tom said quietly. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” Her eyes were wide as she tried to make sense of what he’d just said. “From the first night we kissed on that stage, I’ve wanted it to be real. Every night after that has been torture. It’s a test of my acting skills to keep myself _composed_.”

She’d thought it was just her imagination the few times his pants appeared a bit tighter after she’d been tossed from his lap. Clearly he’d appreciated her subtle touches a lot more than she’d thought. And all this time, he’d managed this air of professionalism. Even on the few nights the cast had gone out for drinks, he’d kept to himself. He certainly hadn’t shown her any special attention. Although she was suddenly remembering a few second glances and subtle looks she hadn’t taken note of before. Needless to say, she was well aware now.

“You know what, I think I am feeling a bit overheated,” she said, finally responding to his incessant tries to nurse her back to health. She quickly stripped out of her sweater, her tank top shortly after it. The look of shock on Tom’s face was priceless. “I might be the better actor if you didn’t know I’ve been crushing on you from day one.”

His relief was palpable as he came forward and kissed her again, his hands immediately assisting her in unbuttoning her pants. She quickly dispatched with his shirt and all the while, her hands mapped the muscle he’d gained for his role. His strong arms gave way to a well-cut chest thoroughly coated in paint. All this time he’d wanted her touch to be real. She would not disappoint.

She pushed him down on the sofa, his lips leaving her neck with a satisfyingly wet pop. “My lord and husband,” she recited, beginning to shimmy her pants past her hips. Tom caught on instantly, his legs spreading in their customary fashion, his devious grin hardening just slightly. “The sorrow that delivers us thus changed makes you think so,” she continued with as much sex in her voice as possible before ditching her pants and settling into his lap a bit more seductively than the show had allowed. And then she kissed him, fingers dug deep in his hair as her tongue twined with his. When she looked up again, his expression was beautifully blank.

“Like a dull actor now, I have forgot my part.”

She offered half a laugh and wicked smile. “Hmm, perhaps I can remind you.” She mouthed at his neck as her hand finally migrated to the bulge in his sweatpants. As wonderful as his expression had been on stage, the look on his face as she wrapped her hand around his cock was perfection. She could see his composure rapidly disappearing, his control slipping in a hurry. “This is what you wanted?” The rock hard length in her hand was evidence enough, but watching him squirm was a privilege she couldn’t live without. “Tom?” She tugged his legs together to straddle his waist and ground her wetness against him.

“ _God yes._ ”

Where he would have tossed her off during the show, he instead turned her over in so fluid a motion and then crowded her into the couch, his mouth on hers once more. “Everything I wanted and more, darling.” His lips were all over her, sucking bruises into her neck as he tore off her bra, making stiff peaks of her nipples while his hand worked some sort of magic between her legs. “Would you have me,” he began, his gruff Roman soldier tone making her shiver. “False to my nature? Forgoing all formality to _fuck_ you right here, right now?”

“I would’ve had you in the middle of the stage if I thought I could get away with it.” He laughed against her neck. “Now shut up and take me.”

She lifted her hips, rubbing his still obvious erection, egging him on until his patience had clearly run out. He tugged her panties aside and, finally freeing his cock from his sweatpants, poised himself at her entrance. And then he slowly pressed in, one glorious inch at a time.

Her voice completely abandoned her and her eyes clamped shut as she felt him everywhere, all at once – buried so deep she saw stars. Her legs circled his waist as his hips began to rock at a punishing pace. But god was it wonderful. Her nails dug into his shoulders and she barely had the presence of mind to avoid his prosthetic wounds. He might have real ones after this.

“You feel absolutely amazing.”

Her response became little more than a groan as he pulled almost all the way out and then thrust back in. Her mind went foggy, every nerve on high alert, waiting for one last push. “How will I think of anything but this the next time we’re on stage? How can I kiss you without really kissing you?” His lips melded with hers, taking long draws until she gasped at the depth of it. “When you sit in my lap – how will I keep my hands to myself?” He reached between them, his thumb slowly circling her clit. “Maybe I won’t.”

She tensed, muscles contracting of their own accord, her voice shredded as she moaned. She clung to him as tight as she could, even as her every nerve was overwrought with sensation that just wouldn’t stop. Tom took that cue, relinquishing the last of his control and releasing his seed with a kiss he barely managed.

The air thinned after a while, but neither of them had moved up until then. Tom’s arms had given out and he simply laid on top of her. She could feel the paint on his chest smearing with the sweat that had collected there. But she couldn’t have cared less. She played with his hair, adoring his scent and the feel of his weight still pressing into her. Perfect.

“You going to make it to the show tonight?” she asked; if he were even awake to hear her. He grumbled in response. “Not sure I can do it without you.”

“I’m sure you’ve learned my part as well, darling. You can handle it.”

She laughed. “I think you might enjoy my performance tonight.”

Tom finally sat up, his hair thoroughly mussed, but his smile as charming as ever. “Oh, of that, I have no doubt.”


End file.
